


I Love You Never Felt Like Any Blessing

by semele



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:24:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/pseuds/semele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So when words get too smooth, and smiles so stiff they make their teeth hurt, all they can do is step into a room, lock the door, and face each other for real. (post-s4)</p><p>Warnings: THIS SHIT IS DARK. Contains rough sex, pain, pegging, domination, hints of sadism and masochism, allusions to past trauma.</p><p> Written for love-bingo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love You Never Felt Like Any Blessing

_This will be my last confession  
I love you never felt like any blessing   
Whispering like it's a secret   
Only to condemn the one who hears it  
With a heavy heart _

Florence + The Machine, _Heavy in Your Arms_

They spend their days smiling.

The smiles aren't exactly true, but they aren't exactly false either (it's complicated). They're for themselves, and perhaps at little bit for other people; at least Damon thinks Elena's is. Old habits die hard, and she always liked to hide herself behind a smile.

(Sometimes Damon remembers what he used to think about love, and it makes him full of hollow laughter, the absurd taking his breath away. Look at them now: he loves her and she loves him, and it doesn't solve a single damned thing.)

They don't talk about what happened in the last few months, because there's nothing left to say. There's no one else to talk either – the others wouldn't understand, their answers would be way too short and too easy, too reasonable for this mess of want, and hate, and hurt. 

So when words get too smooth, and smiles so stiff they make their teeth hurt, all they can do is step into a room, lock the door, and face each other for real. 

It's shamefully easy.

(It shouldn't be easy. Nothing about what they are now can be easy, and yet when Damon feels Elena's hand turn him around and press at the small of his back, he feels almost like he came back home.)

Blood rushes to his head as he bends and rests his hands on the arms of an armchair. Elena pushes until he bends so low his elbows hit the fabric, and he knows this is going to be rough, but it doesn't stop his breath from catching when she casually slides her hand down his ass before she steps back.

He can hear her undress, and he knows he should use this moment to prepare himself, to spread his legs a bit and relax his muscles. He isn't sure what stops him (he knows all too well what stops him), but it doesn't matter, because all he can think right now is Elena. Her movements are swift and sure as she removes her clothes and secures the harness around her hips. She removes everything, even her socks, keeps stripping until there's nothing left but Elena, Elena silent and calm, Elena real and raw.

Now it's his turn to get raw.

“Take off your pants,” she commands, getting a step closer, and the sudden sound of her voice almost makes him jump. He tries to straighten up out of habit, but Elena's hand is on his back again, pressing like a warning, so he freezes. It's awkward, trying to fumble with his belt when he's bent so low, but Elena is in no hurry.

He wonders if she's looking at him.

He doesn't dare to remove his shirt, but Elena slides her hand under it anyway, feels his skin as if she was testing if it would break. (A part of him wishes she'd just check, cut, or bite, or hit, but she doesn't, and suddenly the absence of pain makes him feel empty.)

She pushes two fingers inside him without warning, and he screams in surprise, but pushes his ass up anyway to encourage her. 

“Does this hurt?” she asks, stopping for a minute, and Damon wants to laugh, because it does, fuck, it does and it should, he needs this, needs this so hard he can barely think.

He is that selfish.

Her other hand grips his hip so hard her nails almost break the skin, and she pulls slightly so that he rocks against her and takes her in deeper.

“I asked you a question,” she states when she decides she has his attention.

“It does,” he answers simply.

When she starts pulling away, it takes all the self-control he has to not turn around and grab her hand, but he holds on to the arms of the chair as if his life depended on it, determined to stay exactly where she told him to be.

“I said it hurt,” he manages after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. “I didn't say I want you to stop.”

He can practically hear her go still behind him as understanding settles in her, then there's a click of a bottle of lubricant being opened, and the whole world disappears.

Elena's slick fingers push into him brutally, spreading him open for her with bruising efficiency. He locks his knees and grips the armchair tighter, forcing himself to not rock against her hand, to only take as much as she wants to give. He can smell her get wet when she sees his stillness, and that makes him smile.

(Good girl.)

When her fingers disappear, he expects her to enter him immediately, but she takes her time, follows the shape of his ass with a single finger until he's shaking. 

“Hold yourself open,” she says finally.

He can barely stand without the support of the armchair, but he complies immediately and spreads himself for her, pulling hard as if he wanted to rip himself open.

(That's her job, not his.)

The cold tip of the strap-on slides inside softly, and Elena takes away Damon's hands, holds them at the wrists against the small of his back in an almost caressing manner.

“I meant it when I said I loved you,” she says clearly.

And then she slams right into him.

Soon he hangs limply on the iron grasp on his wrists, face pressed to the rough fabric, and feels with morbid fascination as his knees are about to give in. At first he tries to rock against her, but she doesn't even bother to forbid it; she just gives him a warning slap on the side of his ass, and he gets the hint. So he fights to remain still, terrified of what she might do when his knees bend, and lets the fear make its way through him. She fucks him hard, and it hurts, but bruises don't stick, so he lets her make them over and over again.

When his knees finally buckle, Elena stops moving. He wants to apologize (he really does), but before he can remember words, Elena lets go of his hands.

“Get up,” she commands, and he braces himself against the armchair. The movement drives her into him slowly but surely, and with every inch Damon feels he's disappearing, no voice and no thoughts, just a hole that can never, ever betray her again.

(He is just a little bit in love with this.)

“I'm sorry,” he says, but she resumes her punishing rhythm and his words turn into a scream, the whole town can hear him scream by now, but it doesn't stop him, not his pain and not his pleasure. He screams until his throat goes raw the way hers went raw when she was trying to make him listen to her, and this time when he collapses, his knees hitting the edge of the armchair, Elena leaves him be.

She slams into him one last time, then awkwardly reaches under the harness to touch her clit. She's shamelessly resting her full body weight on him, and he doesn't even remember the last time she was so close, except he does, fuck, he does. She gets herself off quickly and gracelessly, after no more than a few flicks of her fingers, and they both pretend she isn't crying (they aren't crying) at all.

“Next time we're doing this the other way round,” she whispers against his spine.

He feels her release at the back of his thighs.

***

When Elena stands in front of him naked, he still doesn't understand why.

(She gave him enough time to recover, it took him a minute before he could as much as walk. But Elena was there, she made sure everything was okay, and then simply got up, gripped the arms of the chair, and bent over with neither word nor glance.)

Damon can almost touch the tension in the room: it surrounds Elena's naked body like a veil, but doesn't do anything to protect her. Her bare back looks so completely vulnerable it chokes him. This isn't right, this isn't how they should be. He liked it better the other way, when he screamed and cried under her harsh fingers; that was better, that was fitting, but this? No one in their right mind should ever trust him with Elena vulnerable.

So he touches her hip softly, still hoping for her to change her mind, to push him away or straddle him, to grip his hair and ride his face until her legs are shaking. But this time Elena doesn't move a muscle, unless you count a twitch under his palm, a twitch he wishes he hadn't noticed, except of course he did.

“Tell me what to do,” he begs before he can think, but all he gets in return is a hollow, hollow laughter.

(He should've listened when she _was_ telling him.)

So he starts pushing inside her without further ado; she wants this done and she wants it quick, no need for him to understand. She lets out a whimper of discomfort even though she's wet, so wet he could drown, but obviously not wet enough, and Damon freezes, half-in, hoping she'd rock against him or pull away, give him any sort of a hint.

But Elena only bends lower.

He drives himself home in one smooth motion. Elena shakes beneath him, bracing herself for another thrust, and he obliges, pushes in and out through muted groans and swallowed cries, aware that there's a part of him that wants to push even harder, that would push even harder, and maybe that's the point. Elena wants to see the worst of him, so that she knows what's in stock for her, and she never has to be afraid again.

He slams into her as hard as he can, and her knees buckle under her, so he grabs her hips to hold her upright. It's hot, fuck, it's hot that he can have her like this, and she won't break. He can keep breaking her, and she'll only keep mending until all that's left is a scream, a scream that almost makes him explode inside her.

But then she laughs again, and suddenly Damon knows what to do.

He's out of her in a blink, so hard it almost hurts, and he lines his body up with hers, his cock awkwardly digging into her spine, his head buried between her shoulder blades. She shakes when she feels his lips on her skin, but he doesn't stop: he straightens up, bringing her with him, and then starts slowly sliding down her body until he's kneeling behind her, his hands gesturing for her to turn around.

She wanted his worst.

“I love you,” he says clearly, and Elena sits down and bravely opens her legs for him.

He eats her out like he means it, licks and sucks until he feels like he could swallow her whole. He knows she feels it too, her hands still gripping the armchair, as if she was checking how far he'd go without her fingers in his hair, pulling him in.

She screams through her release like she was in pain, and maybe she is, how would he know? He simply keeps going, keeps going until she's limp in his hands, her raw throat finally silent under his love, tears on her face like pearls.

There's something in her eyes that makes him feel sick.


End file.
